! ! The Dawn Of Christ's Nativity [sonnet]

This starry dawn – the wise men yet afar – the shepherds are abed, their night’s task done. Is Mary tired? Or, as one untouched? All birth’s a miracle; no less this one. The cattle have bestirred at hint of morn, the thought of feeding making moist their muzzle; straw is rustling as they, manger-drawn, find unfamiliar form – so warm – to nuzzle. What were the first words Joseph softly said to Mary, as dawn broke, this day of days? And who, sent from the inn to cattle-shed, to feed and lay fresh straw, fell still in praise? How long, this morn, before the murmured sound of voices in the street, as Word gets round?